Phrases
by Link'sLily
Summary: A young girl is left alone in a cheap, small house in an isolated location. Dealing with grief, depression and small traces of OCD, she accepts her uncle and aunt's decision to leave her alone to go antiquing in the mountains. She then finds herself housing three guests, who manage to change her life in a mere 20 minutes. Rated T for language and heavy themes


**Just a one shot for practice. Based on another one of my stories, ATL, but no background information necessary. Reviews encouraged!**

**Phrases **

The cheap candle my father gave me is dying, sadly for the last time. A shame, really, since it was one of the finest candles I own. There is no sure way of knowing this, of course. I didn't purchase it, I didn't have the pleasure of comparing the mundane object to the next, checking the hand written price tag or observing the various colors and textures of wax and metal bases. But this particular candle, my father's candle, glows the brightest and burns the slowest, taking its time to melt, however no matter how much time it spares me, it leaves me more and more each day. The thin layer of the way is now roughly the height of a sewing thimble and the flame is about to be smothered by the wick drowning in the melted wax, which held the constancy of clear vodka.

I watch it, trying to predict in my mind its exact moment of perish every other second. Yet, when my only source of soft light dies and leaves behind a trail of smokey remains, I still flinch.

Maybe it is because the moonlight is now the dominate light and fills the room with an eerie, blue grey hint. I sit alone now, waiting for myself to become tired, so I can dream of more excitement and more color. Color that differs from the bland brown of my wooden walls and the ash stained cream wax. But I remember what day it is and the sweet idea of sleep is now a fantasy, for now I have to clean.

I clean more rigorously tonight, for they will return tomorrow. I understand why they left me alone, I do. It's healthy for me to live on my own, learn to clean and cook for myself. I wouldn't want to be a burden for my aunt and uncle when I pass my maturity. So I understand why they left me to go see the West Mountain antiques. Yes, I understand. There is a part of me that wishes I could have come along to see the wooden antiques, which I'm sure are beautiful. There must be thousands of candles there. Perhaps they will bring me one, a nice cream colored one like my father's. But instead they will return with more of that horrid, fatty meat that my aunt enjoys and my uncle will by carrying yet another grey colored vase, slightly straighter or more curved from the last, that will sit empty on the shells for years. I do wish I could've come along, thinking a change would be good for me, but I didn't retort their decision.

Maybe if I clean well and cook them a decent meal, they will let me come next time. And I will buy ten candles to light up my room like a glorious ball room at night. I do not believe I would mind blowing each one out when I would need to sleep.

I clean the ten vases, the six plates, organize the twenty pieces of clothing, and wipe the three tables, both with three chairs with four legs, including the one with the chip, like a bite taken out of an apple, which we currently own five of.

This is the last night I would be able to have my way with my candles, organizing them from most wax to least, and then maybe, if I have time, from brightest to dimmest.

And then they will come again and ruin my work by choosing the first candle they can grab, probably singeing the wax on the top edge as they light it, wasting it.

_Thump, thump._

I look into the dark corner of the room where the door is, almost in disbelief. For a moment I believe it is them, but it can't be. Not yet.

I go to the window first, like my father taught me when I was five. I see a girl, my age, a boy, my age and another boy, my age, hanging from their shoulders bleeding. His head is hung. The two carrying him share an anxious look and bang on the door again.

_Um, um, um. _Finally I decide to answer the door, not without a carving knife hidden behind my back.

"Hello?" I ask with uncertainty, the underlining message 'Why the hell are you here in the middle of nowhere?'.

The girl looks up at me with bright, green eyes. "Hi!" she chimes. "We need help, now. Will you help us?"

"Um, I um, I'm home alone," Don't say that. Why did you say that? "I mean I…"

"Please? He needs help."

"S-sure." I convince myself it will all be fine with the usual reception of my favorite, relaxing phrases as the three of them rush by. 'Everything works itself out', 'Things happen for a reason,' 'The Gods will be one your side', 'There's no going back now, make the best of it'.

The girl is compulsive and neat. I notice immediately. The moment the injured boy is set down, she moves the hairs out of his face and adjusts his arms so they don't hang off the table. She shuts the door and checks the lock twice, click, click. She begins to rummage around the house, winces when she comes across something disorganized or a piece of rubbish. I place the knife down.

The healthy boy watches her for a brief moment, glances at me, then at the injured boy. "You got climox?"

The boys eyes are closed and his head sways side to side. He's in pain.

"Hello?!" the other snaps. "I'm talking to you."

"Um, climox? Climox, yes, I have climox."

It takes me a while to collect my thoughts. Climox, clear, liquid, medicine cabinet, bathroom.

When I return from my epic quest to retrieve medicine for a stranger, they are all gone. I frown and pinch my arm with my nail violently. Ow. Not dreaming. Where did they go?

"ARTHUR!"

I hear the girl's shrill, sharp voice from my room. Oh, they're in my room. Okay. I suppose that's okay. There's nothing in my room they could ruin, is there? No, there isn't. Good, I'm good. They can be in my room if they want.

I peer in to see the healthy boy, the one she called Arthur, poking at the injured boy's side.

"Don't poke it, you idiot!"

He lifts his hand and flashes a grin. "Sorry, doctor. Work your magic."

I watch as the girl pulls out supplies, my supplies, and begins to unravel the boy's clothes. His impressive physique tells me he must be a warrior, a fighter. Hopefully a good one. She begins to apply certain remedies and bandages, her forehead beginning to moisten with sweat.

Arthur brings his face close to the injured ones. "I told you to let me help you fight it! I told you, and I'm right, as always!"

The boy opens his eyes, piercing and blue, and his mouth, which required effort. He took a staggered breath and muttered the words. "…shut…up."

The girl grips Arthur's hair and pulls his head back. "Listen to Link and sit in the corner."

"Calm yourself," he says causally and rubs his head. "Bastard's been through worse. Just patch him up so we can get the hell out of here. It's depressing as fuck in here."

The girl swats his shoulder. "Be polite!"

Arthur lifts his eyes towards me. "You're right, Saria, my dear, I should be polite."

The look in his eyes sends my stomach as low as it can go. He smiles, exposing white teeth. "Hi!" he says as he walks around my bed and sticks out a hand. A dirty, bruised hand with broken finger nails. "Name's Arthur. And you are?"

"Um," I hesitate to take his giant hand, but the social pressure makes me place my pail, delicate one in his tight, fighter's grip. "Claire."

"Nice to meet you, Claire. Claire Bear. Claire as day," he is radiating energy and spirit as he walks towards me, forcing me to exit my own room. He shuts the door.

"They're kinda downers, aren't they?" he begins to make him self at home, his heavy man feet pounding on my cheap wooden floors. "You all alone here? You seem young. What's that smell? Why is so dark?"

"I, um," I try my best to keep up with him as he takes a peek in every room.

"Got any food? Hate to ask, but I'm fucking starving…sorry, does that word bug you? Fuck? Well I won't say fuck anymore if it bothers you. This is your shitty cabin anyway."

"BE POLITE!" Saria screeches from the other room.

He looks in her direction, then at me and wiggles his finger around his ear. "Woman's got ears like a fucking bat. So, any food?"

"Um, yeah. I have some food."

"You say um a lot. Got to work on that, don't you? You're pretty enough, so pair that up with decent social skills and you're good to go!"

"U- okay."

Minutes later he is sticking his dirty finger in a jar of jam. He shoves it into his mouth, black goop staining the corners of his lips.

He suddenly spits. "That's fucking disgusting."

"I'm sorry. There's some other food in the cupboards."

Saria walks in and notices the stain on the floor.

"Arthur!" she scorns and begins to search for a rag. "This isn't our house."

He purses his lips and watches her clean the jam off the floor. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I'm sorry about him," Saria tells me, her tone genuine.

"It's okay."

"How's the Grand Hero?" Arthur asks.

"Fine."

"Course he is, he's always fine."

"W-…yeah," Saria's response is half hearted, like she didn't have the energy to either argue or agree with her rude companion. She glances at me and lifts a nail to chew on, which I now notice is bit down to the red underlining. "Are there any dark souls in this area?"

"What's a dark soul?"

Arthur smirks loudly and obnoxiously. "Answers that question."

A figure appears in the doorway of the room. The injured boy from before is fully dressed, like he was never hurt in the first place. I'm awestruck by this, but his companions treat it normally.

Saria rolls her eyes. "Gods, Link. You can give yourself five minutes, you know."

He shrugs and allows his eyes to dart in multiple directions absorbing his environment. After a moment, he speaks. "Can we leave soon?" he asks….someone. Not me. Not Arthur or Saria. It was as if he was asking the room.

"Yes," Saria answers and stands up. "We can leave soon."

"Thank you," Link says next. It takes me a moment to realize he's speaking to me.

"Oh, it's fine."

"Are you here alone?"

"Um," something about him is trustworthy. "Yes."

I repeat the phrases again in my mind.

His eyebrows twitch as if my answer triggered a thought, but I don't ask.

"It's fine, Link," Saria says. "Leave it alone. We got what we needed."

My stomach quivers. Phrases, Phrases.

Link narrows his eyes and his gaze drifts for a moment. "I…Alright," he says finally and passes by me.

Get out. Get out of my house.

He pauses by the door.

"Link," Saria says sternly. "It's fine."

"No," he says with a low, emotionless voice. "It's not."

Arthur scoffs. "You can't expect to cover your tracks to this degree. Sinal has no idea where you are."

"But the-"

"You killed it."

He takes a breath and glances at me again. He stares at me for a long moment, then at my father's candle's corpse. He glances at a match, then back at me. "But I didn't burn all the bridges," he mutters, his eyes locked on me now.

"Link."

He breaks my gaze and looks up at Saria and Arthur. "Alright, you're right. Let's go. Thank you, um…."

"Claire."

"Claire. Thank you Claire."

And now they're gone. And it's dark again. I stare at my father's candle and the match and I think about Link's words. Phrases.

I pick up the match and strike it, the room lit up once again. I see the open jar of jam Arthur violated and the open door of my room. I see a crimson stain of blood on my cheap wood floors and the bottle of crimox that I'm still holding in my hand. It's so quite. I don't like the smells they brought in. I don't like the mess they made. I don't like the confusion they burdened me with. The bottle of crimox breaks in my hand. The flammable liquid splashes the woods and the legs of my table. Phrases.

The fire crept down the matches shaft and burns my finger, so I drop it.

The color of the flames is beautiful, prettier than any cheap candle could bring me. I stare at it until the heat tickles the skin of my legs. I decide to leave the pretty flames as they grow, eating away at my cheap wood and grab my carving knife.

I step outside of my house, and the smell and color of the flames are nothing compared to this amazing view of forest and nature before me. I leave my burning house barefoot, knife in hand, to see the West Mountain antiques. In the forest, I repeat my phrases aloud to myself. Phrases. Phrases.

I will buy ten candles.

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